Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism

by DeCosmo, Anthony

Second, with the slow-down in operations the Dark Wolves had nothing to do. The rest of the team sat around Southern Command at the beach playing cards and watching TV. Godfrey's big announcement about the end of the war suggested even less work would come their way in the months ahead.

  Finally, she knew her 'mission' lay outside the normal framework of her duties. Shep had contrived an assignment with no specific objective: go to south Florida and train. Only a high ranking General could get away with such drivel. However, that did not make her feel any better. Captain Nina Forest followed the rules, she followed protocol, she did not deviate from her role. She was a loyal soldier. Problem was, she no longer knew to whom that loyalty belonged.

  Before that fateful day last month, she knew Trevor Stone to be her leader. All the orders that flowed to her flowed ultimately from him. Her latest 'orders' came in the form of a request from Trevor's widow and the blessing of Shepherd. No paperwork, no responsible party other than herself.

  So why did she do this?

  The idea of Centurians assassinating Trevor made sense. But a human conspiracy? Why would aliens do the bidding of human assassins? If someone other than the invaders bore responsibility for the act, then Trevor's death should have come from a modern Lee Harvey Oswald. Besides, the initial findings from the Internal Security investigation supported the facts as the country knew them.

  None of it made much sense, but Nina knew that understanding the complexities of politics did not rank as one of her strong points. She preferred things more straight forward.

  The taxi drove into the surprisingly well-populated neighborhoods of Little Havana. Children rode bicycles in celebration of summer school recess, street vendors sold newspapers and all manner of food from hot dogs (of questionable pedigree) to flavored ices; a man sat on his steps strumming a guitar while his daughter and boyfriend danced; another man leaned against a palm tree watching traffic go by with a cigar in his mouth.

  There was one part of Miami Nina did not like at all: traffic. Under normal circumstances she did not like riding in cars. She liked it even less in this city where traffic seemed to nearly match pre-war levels. Taxis and delivery trucks, motorcycles and convertibles zipped along side streets, up and down boulevards, on to and off expressways.

  Many of those cars ran on standard gasoline, some drove on hybrid systems using electric engines and batteries. She saw a few that even looked as if they were steam-powered.

  In any case, her ride brought her to the stadium, a decaying horse-shoe shaped football arena built in the late 1930s. She paid the driver and exited, adjusting her rifle as she strolled toward the 'West Plaza' gate where big letters welcomed: Miami Orange Bowl.

  Three older men and a younger one sat under an awning at a portable table playing a game Nina first mistook for cards before realizing it to be dominoes. They gave her a passing glance as she approached the ticket window, interested more in another round of 'muggins' than they were in the pale blond woman with the big gun and ponytail.

  A thin man with a gray mustache put aside a newspaper and grudgingly welcomed her at the ticket window.

  "I have this," she slipped the voucher under the security glass.

  "No game today. Practice," he returned the slip.

  Nina did not know what to do other than retreat. She stepped backwards and nearly bumped into the chubby belly of one of the domino players who, apparently, had actually taken an interest in her after all.

  The man's breath smelled of sweet liquor. Small beads of sweat peppered his forehead below the brim of a baseball cap. He eyed her but not in the way most men eyed her. She felt certain he did not inspect her form but, rather, her person; evaluating her on some level.

  His tightly-pinched lips suggested he did not feel comfortable with his next move, but he held out his hand anyway. She gave him the voucher. He spoke to the ticket-taker behind the window in a fast voice and in a language beyond her comprehension, probably Spanish.

  The man behind the glass acted surprised, shrugged his shoulders, said something defensive in the same language, and then sighed.

  The chubby domino player ripped the stub on Nina's voucher and pointed toward the window again before returning to the table and the dominoes. Nina's second trip to the window resulted in a hand-written 'ticket' giving a row and seat number in 'Section C.'

  She walked the empty halls of the stadium's infrastructure, watching the stenciled symbols until finding her section, then ascending the concrete vomitory into the late afternoon sunshine again.

  Orange seats arranged in two tiers swept around a finely-trimmed football field, enclosing the stadium except for the east end. There stood bent and damaged support pillars that, she figured, once held a scoreboard. Further off through that opening she saw the relatively intact skyscrapers of downtown.

  Nina found her seat and became the only spectator in the stands although several kids and coaches gathered on the far side line. The players—about thirty—wore white practice uniforms and helmets. Different coaches worked with different groups of players.

  A kicker used a tee to boot a field goal through the east goal posts from the five yard line. A boy no more than eight retrieved the football for him. The kicker moved the tee to the fifteen yard line, and kicked again. The process repeated for several minutes as his field goal attempts grew more challenging. He missed from the twenty and the forty-five but hit everything else in between before beginning the process again from the five.

  About mid-way through the kicker's second go-around and as the quarterbacks started throwing to receivers running out and up patterns, a man took the seat next to her. He wore rugged tan pants and a gray golf shirt. His eyes hid behind dark sun glasses and a white straw hat with a batik print band covered what she guessed to be a bald head. He spoke in a cheerful tone from a mouth partially hidden under a bushy mustache.

  "Well hello, Ms. Forest."

  "Captain Forest. Do you know me?"

  He recited, "Nina Forest, born and raised in Kutztown, Pennsylvania. Entered the Army National Guard out of high school and trained as a Blackhawk pilot but also drew some juicy ferry missions for Apaches and Cobras. You joined the Philly police and quickly qualified for SWAT duty as well as air patrol. You may not know this, but records recovered at the Pentagon suggest you fired the first shots of this war when you killed what we now know to be a Jabberwock in the Kimmel Theater at the National Constitution Museum. Big attaboy for you."

  He removed his sun glasses, turned to her and winked.

  "Then it's true. Gordon Knox is still alive."

  "I don't suppose you're here to catch practice, are you? The Hurricanes have a big game this week but not too many people have the time to come out. I guess college football just isn't what it used to be."

  She said, "I didn't know they were still playing college football. I thought most of the college-aged kids were in the military."

  "Well, it's not like it used to be," Knox admitted. "Faculty members and people from the community round out the roster. It's more like an amateur football club as opposed to old-world collegiate athletics. Not too many schools holding classes these days, either. Florida State is playing again. They've got the campus running up in Tallahassee. I hear they're trying to get the University of Florida going, but it seems no one wants to be in Gainesville these days; the smell from the Jaw-Wolf feces still hovers over the whole town."

  Nina glanced around at the players, the stadium, and the skyline saying, "Well this place almost feels like the invasion never happened. Seriously, traffic? Football practice?"

  "Miami held out," Gordon told her. "For all the fighting and suffering here, the city kept working. Not because of government, but because of the people. So they recovered faster here. Business, agriculture, industry…there's a sense of normalcy here, but if you look close you can see the scars. Still, no where I'd rather be."

  "Listen, I didn't come here to talk about business or football, but you know that."

  Knox smi
led and pointed to the practice field where a receiver lay flat on the grass with a defensive back hovering overhead and the ball cascading away end over end across the turf.

  "Did you see that hit? I don't think the receiver even saw it coming. Still, a good hit doesn’t mean much if you can't get the other guy to drop the ball."

  "Is that what happened with you?" Nina asked in an effort to get to the point. She hated double speak and pretension. "Or did you just want to retire and faked your own house fire?"

  He chuckled, stroked his mustache, and answered, "Let's just say I had a visit from some people who thought I was in the way of the changing of the guard. I had some fun, then decided to move on. I've always preferred Miami, anyhow. I consider this town my home."

  "So you gave Ashley a ticket voucher, so she could find you if she needed your help."

  "And here I find you sitting."

  "I guess that's a bit of a surprise," she said.

  "Not really."

  "What do you mean? Look, no one is more surprised about me being here than I am. I'm just saying, I'm not sure how I'm mixed up in this."

  "Is that so? Well, I guess it would be to you. But to me it fits. From what I understand, there's a whole year of surprises you can't remember. How strange is that?"

  Nina sensed something in his tone akin to a cat playing with a mouse.

  "W-what do you mean? What do you know?"

  He shrugged. "No more than you, not really. I wasn't by Trevor's side in those days and no one kept really detailed records back then. It was all too small, I suppose. Still, I've got to give you credit. You all toughed it out when you could've just packed it in and played it safe. Guess that's what I always liked about Trevor."

  Nina gazed down, her eyes looking not at her hands but at the dark spots in her mind where memories should have been.

  He said, "I guess I don't know any more than you do. I know you had some sort of implant from The Order. The story goes that there were two implants and that they had to spirit you away from one of Voggoth's bases in order to save you."

  She nodded absently. "Trevor led the rescue mission. At least that's what Shep told me."

  Gordon pushed on, "Interesting, I've heard a couple of variations of that story, including Trevor being one of The Order's prisoners at the same facility, near Allentown. I wonder how he ended up there. And then I think of you, and how they had you under their control for a spell. Sometimes I wonder if, well, if they didn't use you to get to him."

  Her eyes widened and she spat, "Are you suggesting I betrayed him? Is that it? That's not possible. I'm just saying, I could never have done that."

  "Really?" He stroked his mustache again with the air of a scientist observing an experiment. "Now wouldn't that be something, if they got to you and made you give Stone up."

  Nina wondered. She felt Shepherd kept information from her. Maybe to protect her. Maybe so she would never know that she once betrayed Trevor.

  Her mind could not accept that. She refused to accept that.

  "Look, I'm not here to play games. His wife said you would help."

  "Help with what? What is there to do, Captain Forest?"

  "Don't give me that," she scolded. "I know about you, Knox. I know you had your fingers in everything. If Trevor's assassination was more than it's been made out to be, then you'd have some place to start."

  He answered, "I've been making a few phone calls, visiting with some old friends, and reading the newspapers. I particularly like this morning's edition. The front page story is about our President's peace deal. Isn't that wonderful? Nothing like blaming the victim. A great way to dampen the anti-alien feelings and an even better way to turn a nice chunk of the population into gutless sheep. Our new President's big revelation is that mankind brought this upon ourselves. The only way we can have peace, of course, is if we show how non-violent we are."

  Nina broke in, "Seems to me like being violent was winning this war."

  Gordon smiled; it seemed he absolutely loved her response. "So the politicians get everything they wanted and can make at least some of the people distrustful of the only group that might replace all these new-age sleaze-balls, the military."

  "So you think he's lying? You think there's another reason for this whole invasion."

  Gordon nodded and said, "Only people who want to believe that it's our fault are going to believe that. I doubt Godfrey even believes it himself, but it gives him what he always wanted, a chance to turn back the clock and make America what it used to be."

  She narrowed her eyes and said, "Tell me something, Mr. Director of Intelligence. If this was a conspiracy within our own government, how come you didn't see it coming?"

  Something flashed over Gordon's face, some mix of sadness and regret; her question had stung. He took a moment to compose himself and then spoke slowly, measuring each word.

  "That's a good question, one that has kept me up at nights. The truth is, Imperial Intelligence isn't as big as people think and those assets are deployed behind enemy lines, or scouring the planet looking for other survivors. I can tell you about the resistance in Europe or the southern hemisphere, but not much about what was going on in our territories. We were more like the C.I.A., not the F.B.I."

  He paused for a moment. Just when Nina started to speak, Gordon turned to her and his demeanor changed from something sad to something mad.

  "But let me tell you this. Even with those excuses, there should have been hints coming through, reports that never made it to my desk. Of all the people who might have been involved in this, at least a couple had to have top clearance and access to the flow of information to Trevor, to me. I have my suspicions."

  She felt his eyes nearly burn through her. Gordon made his point; he had a score to settle.

  A series of whistles from the practice field signaled the end of the work out. The players hustled toward water coolers, pulling off their helmets along the way. Nina wondered how they kept from passing out in this heat.

  "So what about it? Are you going to help me?"

  "Help you with what?"

  She grunted, "To do what Ashley Stone asked me to do. To find out the truth about the assassination."

  "But here's the thing, Captain. I'm quite happy watching football, lying on the beach, and sipping cold drinks. I'm thinking that if I'm lucky, the bad guys or old age will put me out of my misery before all the mistakes our President is making causes everything to collapse."

  "I don't believe you. Besides, Ashley thinks that you'll help, even if just for her sake."

  He turned to her as if ready to speak, but held his tongue. His eyes studied her for a moment then he asked, "You are a very interesting person, Captain Forest."

  "Stop wasting time."

  "Take your hair, for instance. You have very nice blond hair, with some soft natural curls in it. From what I can see, it easily lays on your shoulders, yet for almost all your life you've taken that hair and bundled it up into a ponytail. The question is, why bother? Why not just cut your hair short? Have you ever let it fall loose to your shoulders? If not, why do you hide it? I'm thinking there's more than just your hair hidden. I'm thinking there's a lot more to you that maybe you don’t even understand."

  "Look, I'm not in the mood for games. I'll ask again. Are you going to help me?"

  Gordon paused and watched the players file toward the locker room. After several seconds of consideration, he warned, "There's nothing half way about me. If I'm going to help, I'm going to bring it full bore. All out, do you understand?"

  "I understand. I think."

  "But it's not me I'm worried about," he cautioned. "It's you."

  "Me?"

  "Yes. Tell me, Nina, are you willing to do whatever it takes to find out the truth of Trevor's assassination?"

  She answered, "Yes."

  His words grew rougher, "Will you keep pushing, even when people start pushing back?"

  To ask a second time annoyed her. She snipped, "Yes."

&
nbsp; Gordon's voice growled and grew to shout, "I'm talking about kicking over every rock to see what slithers out. I'm talking about biting into this thing with your teeth and not letting go until we know what really happened. Are you willing to do that? Will you? Even if it tears The Empire apart?"

  Nina answered so loud and forceful her voice echoed across the stadium.

  "Yes, damn it! Yes!"

  Gordon's eyes widened, his head tilted, and his voice softened.

  "Why?"

  Nina felt her breath heave in and out. But as for her motivation, she did not really know.

  ---

  Director of Internal Security Ray Roos glided down the stairs and onto the tarmac of Miami International Airport. Behind him the whine of a Learjet's engines slowed from a roar to a hum.

  The I.S. jet parked away from the public terminals but a reception committee waited, led by a portly mustached-man dressed in a short-sleeved police uniform with a shiny gold star. Sweat stains radiated from the man’s armpits and along his back.

  Two associates stood on either side of the policeman. The silver of their armor reflected the setting sun in sharp glints. Despite their heavy gear, the two Witiko Skytroops did not appear uncomfortable in the humidity.

  Roos slipped out of his black sport jacket as he approached the gathering, revealing both a white dress shirt and a nine millimeter handgun. He casually hooked the jacket with one finger and carried it over his shoulder.

  "How you boys doin’? You must be Chief Hobbs. Yes, I’ll bet you are."

  Roos extended a hand and cocked his head in a cheesy grin.

  "That’s right…uh…Mister Director," Hobbs’ hand felt slippery and sticky all at once. "This here’s K’Beel and M’Pwitt, they’re my liaison officers down here."

  Roos eyed the two aliens. Their pupils glowed yellow.